


Celebrations

by bluerosebouquet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Finale, idk his birthday just made me sad this year and i wanted to write about it, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerosebouquet/pseuds/bluerosebouquet
Summary: Dean got four birthday parties on Earth, then one in Heaven
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Celebrations

When Dean turned four, his mother baked him a birthday pie instead of a cake. It was apple, his favorite, and made the house smell like heaven the whole day. Better than heaven, as Dean would learn when he was much older. They threw a party for him, surrounded by his friends from pre-school and their parents, they were allowed to run around the house because it was too cold and snowy to play outside for long. Dean still remembers the way that he slid across the wood floor to get to the umbrella base in tag, laughing as his friends chased him.

They had opened presents and Dean had gotten new Hot Wheels and two new Lego sets. He remembered that he got the first piece of pie with a candle in it, that they had all sung him happy birthday, and that they had ended the day with a snowball fight and hot chocolate in front of the fire that night, where Dean was curled between his mother and father, sleepily holding the little black muscle car he had been given in his hand as his mother stroked his hair.

That was the last birthday party he ever had on earth.

When Dean turned ten, his father had taken him shooting. They had stood in front of some stationary cans, a makeshift gun range in the middle of the woods of Colorado, and John had kept him at it until he could hit every target with his eyes closed. He had known how to hold a gun from the time he was six years old, but he swelled with pride when he hit one of the cans, looking up at John for approval, getting a half-smile and a hand ruffling his hair every so often.

When Dean turned sixteen, he spent the day in school staring out the window and wondering what his father was hunting this time. He wanted to be there, he wanted to be out there saving people, hunting things, protecting his father’s back, showing him that he was ready for the life. He wasn’t cut out for school his report card that he intentionally made worse than it could be showed that, he wanted to show his father that he was really made to be a hunter. Too bad he couldn’t even fake being bad at math and science, he always got As in those classes, no matter how hard he tried to fail them. His birthday gift that year was a 100 on a math exam. Damn.

When Dean turned eighteen, he had already dropped out of school to hunt with his father. Sam would stay behind, only hunting during summer break, focusing on school, which Dean had never been able to do. He and his father took out a pair of ghouls, and John had given Dean a swig of his whiskey as a reward. It was, in Dean’s mind, an invitation to becoming a man.

When Dean turned twenty-one, he got shitfaced at some seedy bar while Sam studied for the SATs and John was on a hunt turned binge drinking session. They hadn’t seen him in two weeks, but that was becoming more and more routine, as every time he was home, he and Sam would fight. Dean would always get in between, always protect Sam, and if that earned him a black eye or two, so be it, he would do anything when it came to Sam. They had thrown him out of the bar when last call came around, and Dean had sung happy birthday to himself as he stumbled back to their hotel, ignoring Sam’s bitchface as he focused on his flashcards, determined to escape the life that Dean knew he was stuck with.

Birthdays came and went like any other winter days after that. Twenty-two, thirty, thirty-six, forty-one, they all passed without incident, without mention, without name. Dean didn’t mind, it was easier that way anyway. At least, that’s what he told himself when he got himself a slice of gas-station pie on a solo hunt when he turned thirty-seven. He was lucky to be alive at all.

Dean doesn’t make it to forty-two, he misses it by a few months. Time is supposed to move differently in Heaven, but Dean still knows that it’s his birthday. He spends a lot of the day at the lake by his perfect little house, not really wanting to be bothered. He knew this day would be harder for Sam down there on Earth than it would be for him. That still bothered him, even in the middle of paradise, that Sam was hurting and he couldn’t help him through it. It was an adjustment, they all told him, something that you got used to, but how does he forget that he left his brother, the man he raised, that he loves with all he has, on Earth by himself. _He’s not by himself_ , he reminds himself fifty or so times, staring out at the smooth, glassy surface of the water ringed with aged trees, _he has Eileen, he has a life_. 

People seem to understand that he wants to be alone, no one swings by like they usually do to check in with him. They seem to understand that his first birthday in Heaven may be one that he wants to spend alone. Except for the dark-haired angel who settles in his own chair at the end of their little dock, sitting silently and watching the water with Dean. Dean occasionally takes his eyes off the water and settles on the angel, in his beat up Zeppelin t-shirt and jeans and boots, his messy hair and his bright blue eyes.

“Should I tell you happy birthday?” Cas eventually asks, looking at him directly, not out of the corner of his eyes, “Or is that not appropriate anymore?”

“You can,” Dean watches the minnows twirl in the water at their feet, not able to meet Cas’ eyes, “Are they looking for me?”

“I told them not to,” Cas responds, not taking his eyes off of Dean’s face, “I figured you’d need a little time. Many of them have been here for years, they forget that it takes some getting used to, especially for someone stubborn like you.”

Dean rolls his eyes but huffs a laugh in spite of himself.

“It’s not so much me,” he lets the words fall out of his mouth, uninhibited here as they were so often on Earth, “It’s more Sam. I still worry, even though I know he’ll get here eventually.”

“You raised him, it’s understandable,” Cas’ hand reaches for Dean’s and Dean takes it automatically, feeling the tightness in his chest ease at the feel of Cas’ strong, warm hand in his. He still wasn’t used to it, wasn’t used to having Cas to wake up to in the morning, having Cas hold him at night, having someone that understood him so fully, inside and out.

“Should I stop being mopey?”

“You know as well as I do that I can’t tell you what to do,” Cas smiles, “But I think Ellen might like it if you came to the Roadhouse today.”

“Why?”

“Because she wants to give you a real birthday party.”

Dean feels the way he did when he was four again: almost weightless with excitement. He doesn’t even pause, just stands up and starts dragging Cas to the Impala, speeding towards the Roadhouse and the idea of his very own birthday party in nearly forty years.

It’s just like he had always dreamed, one of those things that really made him believe this was Heaven and not just some made-up djinn dream. Everyone was there, everyone he had loved and lost and found again in the sprawling eternity that was this place. They had his favorite food, his favorite music, his favorite beer…everything was perfect. Well, he thought so anyway, until his mother came out of the kitchen with a steaming apple pie with a candle in it and set it in front of Dean. They all sang happy birthday, and he took the first bite of his birthday pie with a smile so wide he thought his face might split in two.

“Did you set all that up?” Dean asks Cas when they’re in bed that night, Cas tracing the freckles on Dean’s skin with his long fingers.

“No, I just planted the seed. Mentioned to Mary and Ellen that you might like a birthday party.”

Dean listens to the trees rustle outside their window for a while, trying to find the words.

“How’d you know?”

“Because I know you’ve never really been able to celebrate you, any milestones, any accomplishments. It’s not a hunter’s life. It’s not that I knew you wanted it, it’s that I wanted that for you. You deserve it.”

Dean closes his eyes at the words, letting them wash over him like a warm shower. He had never really thought he deserved anything, but he was starting to understand that, whether he deserved the party or the family and friends he had, he might, just maybe, deserve Cas.

“I want to give you a birthday party.”

Cas laughs, pressing his lips to Dean’s hair.

“I’m many millennia old, I don’t think I ever had a date assigned.”

“Pick one, then.”

Cas considers for a while, hands still running along Dean’s skin.

“September 22, the fall equinox.”

Dean doesn’t question it, just leans up to press his lips to Cas’.

“I’ll start planning,” he pauses again, steeling himself to find the right words, “Thank you. For today. I love you.”

“Of course. And I you.”

Dean falls asleep that night dreaming of Cas, of birthday pie, and of fall birthday parties. He learns to let Sam be, to be his own person, to celebrate himself, for a change. 

**Author's Note:**

> I just really miss him, y'all.
> 
> Happy birthday to my boy, this is the birthday party you always deserved.


End file.
